


pictures on my skin

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hair-pulling, Kissing, M/M, Photographs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Safer Sex, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Steve’s stomach heaves the moment Billy kisses his chest, tonguing an obscene path down his torso; fingers tug at his curls, urging him lower, to where heat pours through the front of his jeans, where his cock juts proudly, trapped beneath fabric. They’ve never gotten this far before—normally, they settle for hand jobs or just kissing, or someone’s voice crackles over the walkie talkie stashed under Steve’s bed, ruining the moment. Now, though—now, no one is stopping them, and Billy intends to see this through.Possibly—because the minute Billy reaches into his back pocket to fish for a condom, Steve decides to open his mouth. “I have a camera,” he blurts, and Billy’s heart stutters painfully. No. “I mean, if you’re into that, but—”





	pictures on my skin

Winter overcomes Hawkins without mercy, dropping nearly a foot of snow overnight, all during the last few days of winter break. The heater went out last week, and the cold creeps in through the open windows in the middle of the night. At home, Billy would be fighting Max for control of the space heater, or hiding behind a locked door and pacing a hole in the hardwoods.

Here, he kneels on Steve’s bed and revels in his kiss, the hands skating beneath his unbuttoned shirt. Steve feels like heaven incarnate, kiss-bitten lips teasing his own, the warmth of his body bleeding through Billy’s jeans where they touch, hips grinding in a lazy, sinuous rhythm. Fingers travel, first up the broad expanse of Billy’s chest, then up to his nape, then into his hair; he moans when Steve pulls, just enough to send heat coursing through his veins.

Every bit of takes Billy higher than any drug ever could, from Steve’s gasps to the nails raking down Billy’s spine, leaving reddened welts in their wake. The shirt, Billy yanks off first, refusing to break their kiss while he pulls his arms from the sleeves. Steve delights in the fresh skin once it’s gone, and Billy lets him, smothering a moan into his neck while Steve roams, kissing what he can and groping whatever’s left.

Left, being, Billy’s ass beneath the waistband of his jeans; a single finger darts into his cleft, massaging the ring of muscle there; his cock jerks in his jeans, and Steve positively grins against his ear, his breath scalding. “Cat got your tongue?” Steve chides and tongues the shell of his ear.

If spontaneous combustion was a thing, Billy would be a pile of ash on the floor. “Gonna suck your cock,” he deflects. Rearing up, he palms Steve’s chest, digging his nails in just to hear Steve groan. “Gonna get my mouth on you, pretty boy, you want that?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Steve says, probably higher pitched than he intended.

Billy ignores him and ruts down, lip between his teeth when their cocks line up just right. Objectively, he knows Steve is big—they spent majority of the last semester in the locker rooms together, and sometimes, Billy can’t help but admire him when no one’s around. No one on the team looks at guys the way Billy does, and God forbid someone other than Steve take notice. Because Steve notices everything, and Billy has no intentions of letting him go just yet.

Steve’s stomach heaves the moment Billy kisses his chest, tonguing an obscene path down his torso; fingers tug at his curls, urging him lower, to where heat pours through the front of his jeans, where his cock juts proudly, trapped beneath fabric. They’ve never gotten this far before—normally, they settle for hand jobs or just kissing, or someone’s voice crackles over the walkie talkie stashed under Steve’s bed, ruining the moment. Now, though—now, no one is stopping them, and Billy intends to see this through.

Possibly—because the minute Billy reaches into his back pocket to fish for a condom, Steve decides to open his mouth. “I have a camera,” he blurts, and Billy’s heart stutters painfully. _No_. “I mean, if you’re into that, but—”

“You think this is a joke?” Billy blurts and sits up, as far from Steve’s body as he can get. Leaning up on his elbows, Steve just stares at him, brow pinched. “What, are you trying to blackmail me or something—”

“Dude, no, chill out.” Steve grabs his bicep—Billy jerks away, swallowing against the rising anger. His heart pounds—_Not again_. “Even if we did, why the fuck would I tell anyone? Christ, Hargrove. If this got out, you know it’s not just your head—”

“So self-absorbed,” Billy shoots back. He makes to climb off the bed—maybe Neil fixed the heater—but Steve stops him, pulling him back by the hair. “Hey—”

“I take it back then,” Steve says, assertive in a way that both makes his gut twist and cock even harder. “Not if you’re gonna lose your mind—”

“I’m not losing my _mind_,” Billy spits. Despite his best interest, he falls back onto the bed, pointedly glaring at a knot in the floorboards. “What’re you gonna do, huh? ‘Cause I know how this ends up, and I’m on the shit end of the stick—”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss, teeth clacking and mouths colliding near-painfully. Steve downright _tugs_ on his hair to keep him still; desperately, Billy wants to knock some sense into him, or at least rip the buttons off his shirt, just to piss him off. “You don’t trust me?” Steve growls. Billy moans with the sting and manages to worm his way back into Steve’s lap. “What happened to that, huh? I thought we were good.”

They are—but how they got here, Billy still doesn’t have a clue. One minute, he’s lost in a red fog with blood under his nails, and the next, Steve has him up against the bleachers, kissing the absolute life out of him. “We’re good,” Billy manages through gritted teeth. Steve shoves him down onto the mattress before he can get a good grip on Steve’s hair, and covers Billy’s neck with his entire palm. No pressure; still, Billy swallows, vibrating dangerously from whatever this means. “Think you’re gonna win this one?”

“I think I already have,” Steve says. He slides his hand up, soon cradling Billy’s cheek with his thumb pressed to his mouth. Eyes closed, Billy parts his lips, allowing Steve inside. “It’d just be for fun. Promise, I’m not gonna go behind your back.”

Every inch of Billy screams _no_. He can’t go through this again, can’t subject himself to the thinly veiled threats thrown at him—but he wants the attention. Craves it, especially from someone so fucking _pretty_. “One condition,” Billy says, eventually, wringing the bedding in his fist. “There’s something I have to show you first.”

-+-

In truth, Billy hasn’t thought about the photos in several years. The only upside to leaving California was leaving that past behind, but somehow, it always managed to rear its ugly head.

Neither Neil nor Susan are home when he pulls into the driveway. Steve, to his regret, decided to stay home, supposedly to give Billy his space, but Billy has the sneaking suspicion it has something to do with the weather. Whatever the reason, he leaves the warmth of the Camaro and rushes inside, not bothering to check to see if Max is home. _Get it done_, he tells himself, slinging open his bedroom door. He catches it before the knob bets the wall—again. They could come back anytime; getting caught now would mean the emergency room, or worse.

A manila envelope sits underneath the box spring, pristinely preserved and flattened from where his suitcase folded it during the move. Looking over his shoulder, Billy grabs it and shoves it into the back of his jacket and leaves, his bed in perfect order, no trace of him left behind. The way Neil wants it—like he never existed.

Steve is the basement when Billy barges his way in, sitting on the edge of the couch with a Polaroid Spectra in his hands and several packs of film littering the coffee table. Billy almost has the heart to not disturb him—almost. “I got my proof,” he announces, descending the stairs. Steve launches up, nearly throwing the camera. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Steve jeers, but sets the camera down. “Would we be here if I weren’t?”

Rolling his eyes, Billy pulls the envelope from his jacket and hands it over. His hands shake; sincerely, he hopes Steve doesn’t notice. “This is my condition. I had to break a guy’s front teeth to get these back, so—”

“Got it, no photocopies,” Steve says, hands raised. “Seriously, what’s so bad about it that we had to come down here? Because my dick still hurts—”

“You’ll get yours,” Billy waves him off. “Just sit down and look. Jesus, you’re giving me anxiety.”

Steve does sit, but only after Billy shoves him down, face flushing the moment he hits the couch cushions. Billy follows, head bowed and an ankle tucked under his thigh. Whatever face Steve makes when he opens the envelope, Billy doesn’t want to know. He does, though, hear. “Wow,” Steve says, less breathy and more a high-pitched laugh. Not the reaction he was going for. “You—Are these real?”

“Real as my driver’s license,” Billy says and leans back. He doesn’t have to look at them to know what’s there—eight pictures of him in next to nothing, all artistically shot but leaving nothing to the imagination. Flannel, briefs, even one with his hand down his pants. “I knew a guy who knew a guy, said he had some ‘exciting business opportunity’ for me. Turned out, they were looking for new talent for a gay porn studio up in the Valley.”

Steve chokes on his own spit, beating his chest. “How old were you? Because that’s… definitely not legal.”

“You’re telling me.” His fingers itch—he left his cigarettes on Steve’s dresser. “I just turned seventeen when these were taken. Fucking Alex vouched for me and said I was nineteen, and they were paying serious cash. I’m talking a grand just to take my clothes off, and I’m good at it. Like… _scary_ good.”

For a few minutes, Steve just flips through the photos, lip between his teeth while he thinks. He always ends up back at the same photo, of up from the waist up, arms behind his head, looking every bit like the pinup Billy never thought he’d be. “Would you have done it?” Steve asks, delicately placing the prints back into the envelope. “Not that I’m shaming you or anything, because I’m not—”

“Save it,” Billy sighs, then rubs his eyes. Steve waits—_God_, he’s too good for Billy. “Look, with the way shit is these days, they couldn’t pay me enough. Plus…” _If Neil found out_. The pictures are bad enough, but putting himself on camera for the world to see? That, he can’t erase—that, he won’t come back from. “Anyway. You get an eyeful?”

“One more question,” Steve says, pointing a finger. Billy has half the mind to grab it. “Why’d you punch someone in the mouth?”

Billy laughs, afterward raking a hand through his curls. “Oh, that’s a good story. Turns out the photographer’s a total skeev. Said the only way I’d ever get the pictures is if I got on my knees. So, I took the second option.”

Steve blinks. “You could’ve called the cops, or—”

“What, and get arrested?” Billy scoffs. Absently, he rubs his knuckles. “I was sticking up for myself. If anyone’s gonna make money off my body, it’s damn well gonna be me, you get me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He slides the envelope onto the coffee table before patting his thigh. “So, you gonna make me wait?”

On autopilot, Billy knees his way across the couch and tentatively straddles Steve’s lap. Somehow even with all of his clothes on, he might as well be naked, his vulnerability in Steve’s hands. Steve knows one of his deepest secrets, one that could ruin Billy’s life if he let it slip. But Steve touches him with fascination, skilled fingers unbuttoning his shirt with the utmost ease. “So you know,” Billy says, red-faced, and not just from Steve kissing the medallion dangling from his throat. “What’re you gonna do about it, baby?”

“I have some ideas,” Steve hums. Shirt untucked from Billy’s pants, Steve cups Billy’s hips, dragging him closer. “Do you want to or not? Because I’m pretty sure this film’s gonna expire if I don’t use it soon, and—”

“Fine, whatever,” Billy huffs. Anxiety still coils in his gut, but softer now, eased by Steve’s touch. “But if you double-cross me—”

“Trust me, not gonna happen.” Steve seals it with a kiss—and Billy melts.

-+-

In California, Billy had to squint just to see the camera half the time, with all of the lighting equipment clouding his vision. What the rooms looked like, he can’t remember beyond the blinding white of flash bulbs and reflectors. Steve leads him back upstairs and into the living room, where he closes all the curtains, blocking out the lone streetlamp outside. “Harrington, so modest,” he jests, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the floor. He’ll pick it up later—maybe. “Pretty sure you could fuck me against one of those windows and no one’d notice.”

Steve huffs a laugh and turns, undoing his belt. Something in Billy’s gut twists, but he pushes it down. _He’s not gonna beat you with it_. “Despite what you think, I still have a reputation to uphold,” Steve says. He slides the leather free and holds up a hand, pointing at Billy’s chest. “You like being tied up?”

Billy shrugs, willing away the sudden spike in anxiety. “As long as I can get out of it,” he says, noncommittal. Steve takes that as an answer and turns him around with a strong hand, looping the belt around his wrists with more skill than Billy could even give him credit for. “Kinky, huh?”

“Only thing I learned in the Scouts,” Steve says, then lets him go. If Billy wanted, he could yank his arms free, but the immobility makes him bold, gets his blood flowing just where he wants it. “You good?”

Purely for show, Billy fidgets with the belt until he’s sure it won’t slip off and gives Steve a nod. A smirk flits across his lips, and half-lidded, he cocks his head, baring his neck; Steve watches him, lip between his teeth. “Got me right where you want me, don’t you, princess?”

Steve hums in agreement and steps closer, close enough for Billy to feel the heat pouring off of him, a furnace in the chill of the room. Warm fingers tug his button-down free from his pants, the buttons coming free with barely a flick of the wrist. _He’s good at this_. “Let’s just say, I’ve had a lot of time to fantasize,” Steve says, brushing Billy’s shirt open a bit more, exposing his chest and the hickey blooming just below his collar.

While Steve may not like them, Billy wears the marks with pride, an evidence of a night well-spent. School starts Monday—a shame they won’t last until then.

“Bet you like it,” Billy taunts, leaning in to whisper into Steve’s ear, pressing a biting kiss just along his jaw. “Makes you feel strong, doesn’t it? Putting me on my knees.”

Leisurely, agonizingly slow, Steve trails his hand up Billy’s back and into his curls, where he subsequently yanks, startling a groan from Billy’s lips. “Someone has to do it,” he rumbles, and sneaks in a kiss, easing his grip.

Here, Billy takes his time with his kisses, or as much as he can with his hands behind his back. They could be touching right now—hell, Billy could be rubbing one off on Steve’s thigh, but Steve wants him here, playing along with his filthy little game. Their hips brush when Steve reaches around to palm his ass, and Billy delightedly sucks on Steve’s tongue while Steve reaches into his back pocket, coming up with the condom Billy never got to use.

His mouth waters—all at once, Billy _wants_. “I wanna come on your face,” Steve admits, cheeks glowing red and growing darker by the second. A flush spreads down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt; desperately, Billy wants to kiss his, chase that heat all the way down. “Or are you gonna make this difficult?”

“Difficult is my middle name,” Billy teases, but slides to his knees anyway. Steve grabs the camera from the couch arm and loops the strap around his neck, all while Billy mouths a wet patch over the not-so-subtle rise of Steve’s cock through his jeans; his own throbs in his pants, desperate for any friction he can get. Even Steve’s foot would work, if he would just move—

“Slow down,” Steve laughs, stroking through Billy’s hair. It’s nice—would be nicer, if Steve would get his cock out. “I’m not coming in my pants again, Hargrove. I almost couldn’t get the stain out last time.”

“Not my fault you’re a quick shooter,” Billy jabs. Steve pulls his hair for good measure, the thrill of it going straight to his cock. “Fuck—”

“Uh uh.” Pressing his thumb to Billy’s bottom lip, Steve keeps his mouth open. Billy licks it, mouth already watering with what this means. “Keep it open.”

Helplessly, Billy obeys, and watches. Steve, thankfully, doesn’t make a show of it and pushes his pants down to free his cock; rolling the condom on, he presses the head against Billy’s lips, and Billy kisses it, just desperate enough to not care about the taste. Sucking cock might as well be second nature to him, the weight of it pressing against his tongue, the heat engulfing his senses, swallowing him whole. He goes with what feels natural at first, working Steve even harder with his tongue, laving wet kisses up the underside until he’s slick and shiny, throbbing.

Billy aches at the sight of him, and bites back a while when Steve pushes in again, this time with intent.

Steve has never exactly been quiet when they’ve been in bed together. For the most part, it’s just been swapping kisses and hand jobs, but Steve likes to moan, and loud, all the encouragement Billy ever needs. Now, he holds Billy by the hair one-handed, guiding him up the length of his cock, almost to the root. If Billy thought Steve were big before, then he’s huge here, splitting his mouth wide and filling him in ways he didn't know he needed. Spit drips from the corners of his lips and down his chin, and Steve thrusts into the mess of it, gasping with every swipe of Billy’s tongue.

Gentle fingers weave through his hair, coaxing Billy into closing his eyes, his world devolving into Steve and Steve alone. The shutter of the Polaroid breaks him from that stupor, and one-eyed, he looks up at Steve, the camera now sitting against his chest, film in hand. “Pretty,” Steve praises.

His cock slips free, and Billy takes a moment to swallow. To breathe, most importantly. “This tastes awful,” he complains—

And Steve laughs, almost dropping the photo. “Don’t be a killjoy,” he says, stroking through the mess of spit dripping off Billy’s chin. “You’re gonna ruin the moment.”

“Oh, I am?” Billy says, voice rough. “’Cause you just took my picture, and I was just getting into it.”

“Were you now?” Steve chides. “’Cause you looked pretty into it to me.” He reaches for Billy’s mouth again and presses the flat of his thumb to Billy’s tongue; on instinct, Billy lets go, lets Steve guide him into the next photo, with his eyes half-closed and lips parted, his chest no doubt beet red. Afterward, he replaces his thumb with his cock, and Billy swallows him down to the base while Steve slowly shakes the film.

For all few minutes, all Billy knows is the steady thrust of Steve’s hips and his pitchy moans, and the hand keeping him in place. Billy rocks with his thrusts, wrists flexing and begging to break free, to grab hold of Steve’s thighs and just go to town. He doesn’t, though, as much as he’d like to. Rather, he allows Steve to use him, to fuck his mouth to the point of ecstasy—and only then does he pull out, stripping off the condom just in time to stripe Billy’s face with his release, the warmth pooling in the corner of Billy’s nose, over his lips, spilling off of his chin.

He must look like sin, based on the look Steve gives him, like he just saw God himself. “Holy fuck,” Steve breathes, then laughs, practically a wheeze. “Don’t—Don’t move.”

_Wasn’t planning on it_, Billy wants to stay. Steve lifts the camera before he can even try, and Billy strikes his best pose, revealing the come on his tongue. If the noise Steve makes is any indication, he might as well _be_ God.

-+-

The pool, Billy christens next. Steve won’t venture anywhere near it for some reason, but Billy chooses to ignore him and swims laps instead, mostly to kill his persistent erection that Steve refuses to do anything about. Steam rises off of the water in steady billows, melting whatever snow comes in contact with it. If not for the chill in the air, Billy could stay there all day, wading in the shallows, staving off the inevitable sting the minute he steps out into the elements.

All the while, Steve watches, wrapped up in a coat and a blanket, Polaroid in hand. How many pictures he’s taken, Billy doesn’t know, but he has a stack of photos beside his leg and an empty cartridge thrown hastily toward the door. Hopefully, they’ll get to look at them later, if Billy doesn’t die first.

“Alright, alright,” Billy says after a while, making his way to the edge of the pool. Steve tracks his movements, and captures the moment Billy hoists himself over the side, hair soaking wet and heat pouring off his skin. His cock, still half-hard, hangs between his legs, enough of a sight that Steve refuses to look away, or put the camera down, for that matter. “You get your eyeful?”

“Like I could ever,” Steve says. He finally sets the Polaroid aside and beckons Billy over to the lounger, offering a towel. Billy takes it and sits in the space between his spread legs; they only have a few minutes before the chill sets in, and he wants Steve’s hand on him, now. “I know you’re tough and all, but you’re gonna freeze—”

“Touch me,” Billy growls, and drags Steve into a kiss by his hair.

To his relief, Steve does. Only in short bursts, though, his attention more focused on Billy’s mouth than the raging hard-on between them. The minute Steve lets go, Billy growls and nips until Steve strokes him, base to tip, through the precome spilling from his cock. “Do you ever stop?” Steve asks between kisses, teasing Billy’s slit with the tip of a finger. Billy shivers. “You got two modes man, on and off. Never seen you off.”

“Don’t think off’s been invented yet,” Billy growls. Sometimes, he thinks that if he sat still long enough, that he might actually start feeling something other than anger or lust—mostly anger, but Steve has been known to bring about another side of him, the side that doesn’t want to break his nose every time they come in contact. If science found a way to bottle his determination, he’d be a very rich man.

“I’m serious,” Steve pants. Licking his palm, he strokes down the length of Billy’s cock before palming his balls, giving them a hard enough squeeze that precome spurts from his cock, wetting Steve’s wrist. He shudders—Steve laughs. “Come on, before you freeze. I’m not fucking you if you die of hypothermia.”

“You’re not fucking me at all,” Billy whines. His cock twitches, neglected; Steve gives it a gentle swat, and Billy bites his lip, probably hard enough to bruise. “Harrington, have I told you that you’re a class A asshole today?”

“No, but you’ve still got time,” Steve teases. Photos shoved in his pocket and strap around his neck, he takes Billy’s wrist and leads him back inside. And Billy, blood burning, follows, helpless to obey.

-+-

Somewhere around eleven, Billy loses track of how long they’ve been at this, and how much more he can take before his balls fall off or he comes spectacularly early. At this rate, Steve could probably just look at him and he’d grovel on the floor, begging for any form of touch. A stick could probably get him off just fine, or Steve’s toes—_You’re such a freak, why do you want his feet_?

_Because he won’t use his hands_, Billy answers himself. Anything will work—if only Steve would _touch_ him.

The shower hums, beating hotly across Billy’s chest. Behind his back, Steve holds him—embraces him, really—and presses kisses to his nape, hands never trailing low enough to be even remotely satisfying. His cock, angry and verging on purple, throbs; Billy huffs, head thrown back onto Steve’s shoulder. “I’m halfway to letting you step on me,” Billy says, every bit serious.

If only Steve didn’t find it funny. “I’m having the time of my life right now,” he murmurs, nipping Billy’s earlobe before moving in to suck a mark below his ear. Blood rushes to Billy’s cock; that, even without Steve’s hand, is almost enough. “Feels like revenge.”

“Uncle, then,” Billy pants. Reaching back, he grabs a fistful of Steve’s hair and holds him there, sucking in breath after breath. “Uncle, fucking uncle, my balls fucking hurt—”

“These?” For emphasis, Steve trails his hand down Billy’s thigh, then between his legs, where he fondles his balls with no finesse.

Billy _shouts_, his voice echoing off the tile walls of the Harrington’s master bathroom, and comes before he can even stop himself, fire licking through his veins. Thickly, hot spurts of come hit the shower floor, some spilling into Steve’s hand when he finally—_finally_, after what feels like ages—gets a hand on him, massaging him well past the point of sensitivity. “Fuck,” Billy pants, chest heaving, every inch of him shaking. “Oh, fuck, Steve, _Steve_—”

“You actually know my name?” Steve chuckles, pressing closer. Only after Steve lets his cock go does Billy breathe, mouth agape, the shower spraying right in his face. _Hot, hot, I’m on fire_—“Gotta tell you, I was starting to think I was just a last name to you.”

Before Steve can continue, Billy turns and pins him to the shower wall, an arm over his chest, his other hand bracketing his head. Fear crosses Steve’s eyes, but dies when Billy lets the moment pass. Someday, he’ll have to unpack the baggage and apologize, or at least acknowledge what went down a few months ago. Someday isn’t now, though. Now, Billy kisses him, and Steve digs his nails into Billy’s skin, the sting bright and punishing.

“You got a lot of names,” Billy says, then pulls off to suck a wet kiss to Steve’s throat. “Right now, you’re the bitch that’s been teasing me for the last… Shit, what time is it?”

Steve shrugs. He ducks out of the way long enough to shut off the taps, the white noise dwindling. “Probably midnight. Why, wore out already?”

Billy huffs a laugh, then crosses his arms. They should dry off—should do something other than stare at each other, kiss-bitten lips and all. But the residual warmth keeps him rooted, keeps him in Steve’s orbit, skin so close yet not enough. “You wish,” Billy says, low. “I think I’ve waited long enough.”

“Don’t know, I could probably go for—_Hey_—”

Kissing shuts Steve up. Kissing shuts everyone up, but Steve never stops talking to begin with; Billy delights in the silence and Steve’s lips against his, the hands snaking around his waist to grab his ass, absolutely brazen. “Hey,” Steve rasps when Billy sucks wet kisses to his jaw, trailing across to his chin. “Not to ruin the moment, but my parents have like, a massive bed. I think it’s a California king—

“I’ll show you a California king,” Billy quips and shoves Steve out of the shower.

Steve just laughs, and drags him along.

-+-

Turns out, Steve’s parents do have a California king—a huge one, big enough to fit three people, maybe even four if they tried hard enough. Billy, luckily, gets to experience it firsthand, the comfort of the white bedding against his skin, the mattress equally as supportive as it is soft. Steve spreads him out on said bedding and pins a leg open with his knee, all while he delves two fingers as deep as they’ll go, pressing and curling in all the right places.

Head thrown back, Billy pants out a string of curses, clenching tight around Steve’s hand. “You’ve done this before,” he says, delirious. Steve, if anything, just hums and pulls out, rewetting his fingers for what has to be the fifth time, maybe sixth—it’s been a long night. “Never would’ve thought you’d have the balls to fuck a dude, Harrington.”

Steve laughs, peppering Billy’s chest with long, slow kisses. “I don’t exactly go around broadcasting it,” he says. A third finger tucks in alongside the first two, curling up and _in_, and Billy bites his lip to keep from shouting. “I hooked up with this guy a few times at some parties. We’d get high and fuck in the shower.” He presses in closer, sucking a path of dark marks up Billy’s collar, to his throat. “Honestly, I thought you’d be more awkward about this.”

“Awkward?” Billy laughs—or tries to, what with Steve’s fingers _spreading_, working him open in a way he hasn’t been in months, maybe a year. “Shit, we’ve been fooling around for a month now, you didn’t think I’d be down?”

“Well, kinda?” All at once, Steve pulls away and wipes his fingers off on Billy’s stomach—_messy, messy_—before reaching for the strip of condoms lying by the pillows. Billy’s stomach curls pleasantly as he watches Steve tear the package open with his teeth. He makes a face as he rolls it on, one Billy will taunt him about for later; for now, he tucks that away and turns onto his stomach, stretching his arms above his head. “I mean, you don’t exactly scream gay, and the first time I kissed you, I thought you were gonna break my nose.”

“All part of the act.” For emphasis, Billy sways his hips. Steve grabs him and holds him steady, their thighs touching—_finally_. “What, you think everyone’d be groveling for my attention if they found out I suck cock? Get your head on straight.”

“Nothing straight here,” Steve snorts. With his thumb, he pads across Billy’s hole, dipping in just briefly; Billy shudders and buries his face in the sheets, arching his back deeper. “Hey, would you kill me if I wanted to take a picture?”

“For the love of—” Billy laughs, the bed shaking with it. Tears spring to the corner of his eyes, not out of misery, but frustration. “This is torture, Harrington. You’re breaking my balls here.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Steve says, mirthful, leaning over to grab the Polaroid. What Billy doesn’t expect is for Steve to slap his ass, hard enough to sting and probably leave a mark; Steve rubs it afterward, as much of an apology as any. “You like that?”

“Not—sure,” Billy grunts. He fights the urge to curl in on himself anyway. This is Steve, he thinks; Steve wouldn’t hurt him right now, as much as his body thinks otherwise. His heart races, ticking up a few notches when Steve kisses the mark he left behind, nipping around the imprint of a finger. “I’d tell you to take a picture, but it’s starting to feel like you’re never gonna.”

Steve huffs out a noise, sounding eerily reminiscent of a growl. No malice, though, unlike so many others in the past. “Tammy told me at Tricia’s party last month that you had a great ass. She just would _not_ stop talking about it, and now that I get to see you with your pants off, it’s… wow.”

“It’d look even better if you’d get your dick in there,” Billy taunts, shaking his ass again. This time when Steve slaps him, he’s ready for it, sheets between his teeth when Steve rubs over his handiwork. The camera clicks; Billy’s cock leaks, more than ready for what comes next. “C’mon, princess. You gonna make a mess of me? Or are you—”

Steve shuts him up with a final slap, coupled with the initial breach of his cock—after that, all Billy knows how to do is shout.

It’s not the best sex he’s ever had, admittedly; Steve is too enthusiastic, doesn’t exactly know where to put his hands or how hard to push, but Billy basks in it, the heat of another person crowding him, sinking his teeth in, Steve’s cock grinding where he wants it. He strokes himself while Steve grabs a fistful of his hair, tugging at the roots and eliciting a growl from Billy’s throat.

_God_, it’s been a long time, too long for his liking. Every thrust makes his thighs strain, his knees threatening to buckle under the pressure; he braces a hand on the headboard and muffles his pleasure into the linens, all while Steve grunts and _growls_ like he’s feral, chasing the same exact thing Billy’s wanted all night. “Fuck,” he hisses, choking off his cock at the base. “Fuck, turn me over—”

Steve does, mindlessly, barely even pulling out in the process. One minute, Billy has his face shoved in the pillows, and the next, he’s staring up at Steve’s sweat-sheened face, brown eyes narrowed, lips parted. Billy can’t help but kiss him, moaning into the wet heat of Steve’s mouth as Steve shoves back in, one hand holding his leg open behind the knee, the other threatening to rip his hair out.

This—this, Billy has been craving since the minute he first set eyes on Steve. Not the intimacy of the moment, but the pure electricity, the carnal rawness of two bodies chasing one common goal. “Hot,” Steve gasps, tilting Billy’s head back to kiss his neck, then _bite_, leaving a definite mark behind. Eyes rolling back, Billy shudders a breath and grasps his cock again, so close yet not quite—“So fucking hot, Billy—”

Billy comes a second time from that alone, practically shaking out of his skin while his cock dirties his hand, shooting across his stomach and up to his chest. Steve follows not too long after, mouth going slack around the bruise on Billy’s jaw, hips pumping, _pumping_, then still, so still. Shared pants mingle in the air; sweat beads from Billy’s temple, the smell of sex evident on everything he touches. Even Steve’s hair, mussed as it is from the shower and now from Billy’s vigorous petting.

They’re a mess—every bit of this is a mess. Unbidden, Billy laughs, only relaxing when Steve joins in, their chests spasming, hearts racing. “Fuck, I could go again,” he says, to Steve’s amusement. “Think you can get hard in me?”

“Probably,” Steve says—but doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out and rolls off to lie at Billy’s side, only after a lazy minute of fumbling removing the condom and tying it off. Hands behind his head, Billy looks over and admires the boy at his side, the rise and fall of his chest, lips parted and swollen, face blotchy in places. He’s beautiful—terrifyingly so. “Hey, you wanna burn the pictures?”

_Shit_. Now there’s an idea. “Whenever I get the feeling back in my legs,” Billy says in all seriousness. Steve doesn't laugh this time, just pats Billy’s thigh and sighs, smothering his breath in Billy’s shoulder. In a few minutes—whenever his head stops spinning, they’ll walk out of here, and go back to their normal lives.

For now, Billy has this. And this, these quiet moments, are all he’s ever wanted.

-+-

In the corner of the pool sits a fire pit, made of stone and held up on cast iron legs, all with a metal grate on top. Said grate sits to the side while Steve layers in whatever dry sticks he can find from the forest. Billy lights one of the Polaroids for kindling and tosses it into the pile of wood. Together, they watch it go up, the fire quelling the chill in his bones for the time being.

He never really did bother to look at them after the film finished developing, figuring he knew exactly what was there, just from his imagination. Now, looking down at the film in his hands, he realizes—Steve should never become a photographer. “You can’t take a picture for shit,” Billy laughs, grinning at Steve’s frown. “You ever heard of a steady hand?”

“Hey, next time I’m sucking your dick, you try keeping it still,” Steve shoots back and shoves Billy’s shoulder, not unkindly.

There has to be at least twenty here, maybe more. One of him in an apron in the kitchen, bent over the counter—another leaning against the door jamb, arm above his head, jeans slung down low around his hips. Some are more tasteful than others; the more obscene the photos, the blurrier they get. Some, he hands off to Steve. The rest, he throws into the fire, one by one, and watches them ignite, the smell of burning chemicals mixing with popping wood.

“There’s one I wanna keep,” Steve says as the pile dwindles, holding up the last photo in his stack. One of the first ones he took, Billy suspects. Just him on the couch in the basement, shirt open as always, arms resting atop the couch pillows. “That okay with you?”

To that, Billy shrugs. It doesn’t matter anyway—he can’t take them home. Speaking of. “The guy gave me the negatives,” Billy says, pulling the manila envelope from the inside of his jacket. “Technically, I forced him, but I have the only copies.”

Steve gasps the minute the envelope hits the fire, flames licking up the sides and curling the paper at the edges. A weight lifts from Billy’s shoulders, and for the first time, he smiles, knowing that it’s over. “Feel better?” Steve asks.

Billy nods and leans back in his chair. “Yeah,” he sighs, mist pouring from his mouth. Snow falls, dusting Steve’s hair; reaching over, he brushes it away, then trails his finger down to lift Steve’s chin. Their next kiss is cold, but steadily warms as their lips move, breaths coming as one.

“Wish we didn’t have to hide,” Steve says, kissing the corner of his lips. “Kinda wanna hold your hand on Monday.”

“Kinda?” Billy muses with a grin. Steve pushes him away, but drags him back in as an afterthought, their lips meeting again. “Think we’d make a great team.”

Steve hums, his smile infectious. All at once, Billy thinks, he could really fall for him. “Think so too,” Steve agrees. “Think we’d be royalty.”

_Yeah_, Billy thinks, tugging Steve into another kiss. _They’d wish they were us_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna stop lying and saying I'm not writing this anymore, BUT, I'm not lying saying I'm starting another SPN fic, so there's that! Someone please take these boys away from me because they're eating up my time with their faces and it's causing me a Distress. But, I hope y'all enjoy! Prayer circle I can get this other fic posted soon OTL. Also, it is 97 degrees in the middle of October, please save me.
> 
> Title is from the Ashley Monroe song, "Hands on You".
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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